“That certainly fits, although I think the human word is supposed to refer to a good thing.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, well, English—what you call human—is a very fluid language. It doesn’t really have a cultural identity of its own, so it’s quite happy to beat up and rob other languages. A word means just what we want it to mean. No more, no less.”

  She gave me a side-eye. “That sounds like another quote. You get a tone when you do that.”

  “Can’t put one past you. So anything on tap for today, or was this just about the view?”

  “Good news, bad news, Bob. The good news, we’ve introduced Quin the planet as a second-level VR for those ex-Quinlans who feel ready.”

  “And the bad news?”

  “Uh … ” Theresa hesitated, uncharacteristic for her. “We’ve had a number of Quinlan replicants turn themselves off. Deleted their backups, left orders not to restore them.”

  “Oh.” I’d heard rumors of something similar in ex-human space, actually. I’d have to check up on that. “How many?”

  “Only a few, Bob. No pattern that I can find, yet. It does concern me, though. Anec is trying to get statistics from some of your human arcologies, but they are unsurprisingly quite closed-mouthed about it.”

  I smiled in reply. “Well, I can help there, at least. We have contacts.”

  Theresa nodded and popped a fish part into her mouth. I tried to suppress a gag.

  Chapter Thirty-One:

  Huey Progress

  Howard

  November 2342

  Vulcan

  Bridget and I had received an invitation from Mark Harris to attend the latest huey test. He would never invite us for something routine, so I had a good feeling.

  We followed the usual process and soon found ourselves in the lab at the Hawking Institute. Terry was there as well, still acting as a guinea pig. She looked considerably more relaxed than the last time I’d seen her.

  “Hi, Terry,” I said. “How are things? I hope they fixed that exit glitch.”

  She raised her arms as the techs fussed around her, attaching sensors and routing wires. “That was a while back, Mr. Johannson. We’ve had several subsequent and much more interesting glitches since then. Would you like a list?”

  “Terry … ” Mark said in a warning tone.

  I looked at him in surprise, as much because it felt like he was trying to suppress information as anything. That would not sit well with me.

  He glanced at me. “You’re welcome to review our logs, or I can give you a rundown, Howard. But Terry tends to get worked up. We don’t have time for the ranting.”

  Terry chuckled and said, “Can’t argue with that.” She began to lie down on the gurney, assisted by the techs, just like last time.

  “The gear still seems bulky,” I said.

  “Just test sensors,” Mark replied. “We’re not using the production model wearable, and it’s hard to tell from here where the test harness begins and the debugging stuff ends. Take my word for it, the production remote is a marketable size.”

  I nodded. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  Mark glanced to the techs, one of whom said into the air, “Activate.”

  Terry closed her eyes, and the huey woke up. I noted that this version was considerably more human-looking. It even seemed like it resembled Terry, at least a little. I wondered whether it was Terry or the techs who had designed the unit, because there seemed to be a little bit of wish fulfillment going on. Slightly taller and definitely more athletic, it was Terry-plus-plus.

  The huey climbed out of the manny pod and looked around. “Vision’s good. No intermittent freezing.” She looked at me. “One of the glitches had my vision stream locking up like a bad video connection.” She walked back and forth a few times. “Balance is good. How about lunch?”

  “What?” I said, thrown by the non sequitur. Even Mark looked surprised.

  “It’d be a good test. Take me to lunch. You’re buying.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’re not going to abruptly blow chunks or something, are you?”

  The huey, which I was already starting to think of as Terry, laughed. “No, consumption has been one of the more dependable parts of testing. Otherwise, I think I’d have quit.” She patted her stomach. “One of the biggest selling features of these things will be the ability to pig out without gaining weight.”

  The four of us headed for the caf, Terry talking nonstop. “Balance issues. Latency issues when we tried more than three hops on the network. Time-outs. Video lock-ups. The exit failure—you were here for that. It’s been fun times. I’d started waking up in the middle of the night, thinking I was trapped in a huey. But … ” She looked at Mark.

  I noticed that Mark’s arm was completely regrown. Still a bit pink, but fully fleshed out, with proper muscular development. And a tattoo, already.

  “But we’ve made it all the way through the testing gauntlet. Every scenario dreamed up by the approval committee has been successfully met. We’re going to have a couple of alpha testers running hueys full-time at work, which should catch anything else.”

  “What about letting someone have one at home?” Bridget asked.

  “Maybe for the beta stage,” Mark said with a concerned expression. “With all the Luddie sentiment these days, I don’t think anyone wants to abruptly glitch or have a limb fall off in public. Let’s take it slow.”

  “Unlike what we’ve been doing up until now.” I smiled as I made the comment, as otherwise, I was sure I’d just sound testy.

  We executed the same trajectory as last time through the cafeteria lineup. Bridget and I both had burgers, and Mark had mac and cheese again. Terry loaded up on desserts, including a hot fudge sundae. Bridget smiled, seeing this. “Been there,” she commented. Terry laughed and licked her lips ostentatiously.

  The lunch went without incident, the only noteworthy item being that Mark was now using hot sauce on his mac and cheese. I shuddered involuntarily. The man obviously had issues.

  Terry tucked into her dessert with gusto and even went back for a second sundae. Bridget glanced at me, shrugged, and joined her.

  As we ate, a TV mounted high on a wall switched to a newscast, showing protesters clashing with police somewhere on Vulcan. The sound was off, but the placards and signs could be made out. No more replicants; Dead is Gone; You can’t take it with you; and Replicants are not people were the ones I saw. “Chrissake,” I muttered.

  “Luddie rally,” Mark observed. “Gone to violence as usual. They do their best to cause a fight, then claim victimhood. Assholes.”

  “Yes, but their numbers are increasing,” Bridget replied. “All the more reason to get this project finished.”

  “Do you really think it’ll resolve the issue?” Terry asked. “I tend to think it’ll just inflame the Luddies more.”

  “Actual Luddite types, yes. But I think with most people, it’s more a case of resentment driven by envy. Give them what we’ve got, and they will be motivated to defend the new status quo.”

  Terry smiled. “Sure, okay. I think you’re being optimistic, but I hope you’re right.”

  I watched the video of two protesters beating a cop with their signs. I hoped so, too.

  Chapter Thirty-Two:

  Second Wave

  Ferb

  March 2342

  Somewhere above the galactic plane

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered. The radio message, coming from ahead of me, was unequivocal. Someone named George had had the same idea as mine, but way sooner. That shouldn’t have been a surprise, really. What would interest one Bob would interest another.

  I’d decided to head for galactic north a few years back, once the War for Earth ended. I’d built a cargo ship with room for a bunch of relay stations, with the intent of forming a chain so I’d never be out of SCUT contact. But George had apparently thought of it back in the twenty-second century, back before SCUT was a thing. He might have gotten the plans from Bill’s transmissions by now, but without relay stations, he was still out of range. He wouldn’t have been able to build relay stations en route without a supply of raw materials to work with, but he would have built an onboard SCUT anyway because it’s what I would have done.

  George continued to send back reports by radio because it’s what we did. Whether Bill was receiving them or not was another thing. George didn’t seem to be in the registry, either as a clone or as a flight path. Things had been a little anarchic back then, so it was maybe not so surprising.

  But that didn’t change the fact that my grand gesture had turned out to be a me-too. Outstanding.

  Well, George was some two hundred light-years north of me by now, and his reports were quite interesting. He’d left behind the galaxy’s thin disk and its Population I stars and was now well into the thick disk with its Population II stars. Far more metal-poor and therefore far less likely to have any kind of habitable planets. Or planets at all, since even gas and ice giants needed something to form around. But the search for planets didn’t really seem to be George’s focus.

  I was idly playing around with the idea of changing my itinerary—maybe heading for galactic south or the edge of the galaxy. Icarus and Daedalus were heading for the center; George was heading north. Didn’t leave me much unless I just picked a random direction.

  I sat back and crossed my arms, feeling a little put out. But it wouldn’t hurt to follow a little longer. Maybe listen to a few reports, just so I knew what I would be missing.

  But I would make a point of not enjoying it.

  Chapter Thirty-Three:

  Finally Working

  Howard

  December 2342

  Vulcan

  We’d gotten an invitation from Mark to attend a meeting in New Landing, and I noticed that it was phrased in an unusually formal manner. I checked the headers, and it wasn’t from a lawyer, so we weren’t getting sued. Bridget took one look over my shoulder and said, “They think it’s ready.”

  “You sure?”

  She gestured at the text on the Canvas. “That’s Mark bursting with excitement but trying to act casual. Have you not met him?”

  “I can be a bit obtuse that way,” I replied. “Have you not met me?”

  Bridget laughed and lightly slapped my shoulder. “Come on. We can get some lunch and still make it on time.”

  “Bronto burgers?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  A few moments later, I sat up in the Vulcan manny pod. Bridget was already climbing out of her pod. As we straightened our clothes, I got a message from the local auto-attendant. I could see from Bridget’s slight jerk that she’d received something as well.

  To all clients of MannyPark:

  Please be advised that Luddite activity is on the increase, especially around our building. It is strongly advised that clients with malleable mannies alter their appearance before leaving. Clients with older mannies should consider an upgrade or a temporary rental of a newer model until the current activity level subsides.

  Clients should also enter and leave through random entry points in the complex. Guidance will be supplied as required.

  Management

  MannyPark Remote Services LLC

  Well, that sucked something fierce. I glanced at Bridget, who was already changing her features and hair color. There wasn’t much either of us could do about the manny’s hairstyle, but we tended to keep a short, nondescript, and not particularly fashionable hair length on our mannies. Bridget had always been proud of her fire-red hair, though, and all her mannies were redheads by default.

  I followed suit, and we walked out of the pod room, guided by the glowing line on the left wall. The company was situated in a business complex, far too large for protesters to barricade without creating a major snarl and forcing the cops to invoke the Riot Act.

  When we arrived at the Institute, we were met by Mark, Terry, and several suits who turned out to be management. And my employees, apparently. These were the administrators of the Huey Project, which was completely financed by yours truly and missus yours truly, and they knew whose butts needed to be kissed. The level of fawning would have been nauseating if the whole event wasn’t so surreal.

  After several minutes of fending off attempts to butter us up, I’d finally had enough. “Mark,” I growled, “if I don’t get some answers in the next few seconds, I’m leaving. I was going to lube my joints today, and you’re cutting into that.”

  Mark, shamefaced, replied, “Uh, yeah, sorry, we planned a dog-and-pony show, and it kinda got out of hand. Everyone kept wanting to add something, until we ended up with a floor show. So here’s cutting to the chase.” He gestured to Terry, and she stepped forward.

  Terry went into a stage-magician routine, with the “nothing up my sleeve” and the posing. I resisted the urge to say something sarcastic. Terry was normally no-nonsense and acerbic, so there had to be a punch line of some kind coming.

  Finally, she grinned, lifted her T-shirt, and displayed her abdomen.

  Which was transparent. We weren’t seeing human intestines, but a manny status display panel.

  This wasn’t Terry.

  Which was interesting, of course, but mannies had been good enough to fool people for a long time. I cocked my head. “Okay, you’re riding a huey today. Why is this significant?”

  Terry looked a little crestfallen at my response and pulled her T-shirt back into place. “Because I’ve been living through my huey for a week now during work hours, using the production remote, and haven’t experienced a single glitch.”

  “It’s ready, Howard,” Mark added, punctuated by the rapid nods of the management team.

  Now the penny dropped. Everyone here was a shareholder, because that’s how Bridget and I liked to run things. All employees had a personal stake in the outcome, and the outcome of this particular project could make millionaires out of everyone. I reluctantly conceded that a certain level of excitement was justified. Then I grinned uncontrollably.

  I looked at the management team. “And you guys have a marketing plan ready, I guess?”

  The leader, who had introduced himself as Hector Rodriguez, stepped forward. “We do. We have mountains of documentation, and we prepared a presentation, but”—his eyes shifted back and forth between Bridget and myself—“perhaps we can go with the short version for today.”

  This elicited another smile from me and an amused snort from Bridget. I made a go ahead motion.

  “We have a short- and long-term marketing strategy prepared. The benefits of the invention are obvious, but we believe that playing off the existing FUD about mannies wouldn’t hurt, as long as it’s not laid on too thick.”

  “The Luddies,” I interjected.

  Hector nodded. “Their whole platform has revolved around the advantages that replicants have and the innate unfairness of it all. We propose to use that directly. Sell the public on the idea that they can even the playing field and join the elite without the minor inconvenience of dying first.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud.

  “There’s still the issue of life span, though,” Bridget said.

  “Statistically, if you are not personally exposing yourself to all the normal risks that form part of everyday life, average life expectancy should go up six to ten years, even with no other changes to habits or lifestyle.” Hector paused. “Even the terminal phase, the last five years or so of accelerated senescence, can continue to be productive using a huey. It’s not immortality.” He shrugged. “But it’s a little closer.”

  Bridget nodded and glanced at me before replying. “And we’ve been funding some research into delaying the terminal phase as well. I can see this all playing well together.”

  “Well, hell,” I said. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four:

  Prototype

  Bill

  December 2342

  In Virt

  Ihad called a meeting of what Garfield had lately started calling “The Ancient Ones.” Myself, Garfield, Will, and Bob were seated in the moot pub, with Hugh attending via video window. Also in attendance were Howard and Bridget, simply because they’d picked this time to pop over and visit, saying they had some news.

  Although I was displaying a calm demeanor—at least I thought so—Garfield was fairly vibrating in place. And in VR, where you could control your avatar at a pixel level, that was notable. Bob had already noticed Garfield’s excitement and was frowning in perplexity.

  I opened my mouth to say the obvious, but Bob beat me to it. “You suppose we’re all wondering why you’ve gathered us here,” he said. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, talk.”

  I grinned at him, relieved that I could put the drama behind me.

  “We’ve done it.”

  Bob cocked his head. “You’ve figured out how they get the Tootsie Roll in the Tootsie Pop?”

  “Funny guy.” I paused for more drama, and a small bit of revenge. “We’ve successfully pushed matter through a wormhole.”

  You could have heard a pin drop. The only motion in the room was Garfield’s continued vibrating. Then Bob said, deliberately deadpan, “Okay, that’s interesting. Pray continue.”

  I glanced at Gar, whose grin was threatening to sever his head at the jawline, before continuing. “We created a wormhole and split it into two endpoints. Nothing new there. We moved one endpoint to a distance of one hundred kilometers. Successfully. New distance record, but still not cataclysmic. We then, based on the hint from Thoth, expanded and stabilized both ends using negative energy. And pushed ten hydrogen atoms through, one at a time. They all appeared at the other end.” I crossed my arms and tried not to look too smug.

  “Ten hydrogen atoms?” Bridget grumbled. “I am not a physicist, so maybe I don’t understand why that should be impressive.”

  Howard leaned toward her. “No one has ever pushed so much as a quark through a wormhole before, Bridge. Without something to brace the endpoint, even light can’t get through before it collapses.”